You, My Brown Eyed Girl
by WordyAF
Summary: Sitting in a sleazy bar waiting to talk to Shepard, not exactly the place you'd think about meeting a girl who might change the rest of your life, but for Darry Curtis, it just might be reality. Rated T because Tim Shepard has a filthy mouth and for fights/abuse in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

She was the only nice looking thing about the place. The air was thick with smoke and grime, the floors were sticky and almost as slimy as the clientele, but the girl who worked the bar was a Midwest farmer's daughter type straight out of a wet dream. When I sat down at the bar inside of Benny's to wait for Tim Shepard after I got off work that Thursday afternoon, she came right over to me and raised her dark eyebrow from the backside of the bar. It was obvious that she wanted to know what I wanted to drink. I stared back at her stonily for a moment, wondering if she would tell me what I wanted to know willingly, or if I would spend my whole night sitting at the beat up bar that badly needed a new coat of varnish and never get to talk to Shepard. She glared back at me, tipping her chin up and squaring her shoulders, like she was sizing me up before a fight. Tough cookie, huh? I sighed and figured I might as well get comfortable. "Beer, please," I said quietly, tapping my callused fingers on the beaten bar top. She pulled a bottle out and fluidly popped the cap on a mounted churchkey before sliding it my way with a small, surprisingly kind smile. I took a sip of the cold, metallic brew as she scribbled something on a small notebook just out of sight behind the bar. "Tim been around yet tonight?"

She looked up at me, her eyebrows knit together. I could see the thoughts running through her head as clearly as if they were printed across her forehead. _What does a nice guy like you want with that hood rat?_ I knew that look, it was the question that came up over and over again over the course of our friendship- no friendship was too strong of a word, partnership was more accurate, or alliance. She stared at me another minute before cocking her head from side to side, mulling over the faces she had seen that day, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "You've got the better view of the door, if you see him before I do, will you give me a heads up?" For some reason, it didn't strike me as odd that she never said a word. Her face and body expressed so much that it was like she was speaking. None of the other patrons seemed bothered by her silence either. She offered quick service with a raise of her brows and a tilt of her chin, always keeping track of the tabs in that yellow notepad. I watched her move around, happy for the distraction from the business I came to Benny's to discuss.

Those brown eyes of hers left a hitch in my throat and an ache in my heart. They were the same warm chocolate brown as Soda's and my mother's and she had the same dark blonde hair as them too. Brown eyed blondes weren't the most common thing, and to see her when I was still missing Soda was cutting. My mother, I would always miss. The bartender was tall but strong, not willowy and waif like. For a moment my mind lapsed so far as to imagine her throwing bales of hay at the stables Soda used to ride at. In my daydream, she wasn't wearing jeans and an apron like she was behind Benny's bar, but a pair of cut off shorts so short that her pockets hung out the front and her shirt tied up around her midriff. Her hair, bleached to a shining gold by the sun falling in messy waves around her face… _shit._ What was I doing? This was not like me, drifting off and fantasizing about girls. I started to question my sanity, thinking I really was really losing it in Soda's absence. I was turning into Ponyboy, I groaned as I scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and took a long draw off of my beer.

She paced the bar, serving everyone who needed it, but once a lull in business came, she parked herself in front of me, watching me carefully, her silent questions again written all over her pretty face. I wondered if everyone else could tell exactly what she was thinking, or if it was just me. I looked back, failing miserably at looking nonchalant. Her steady gaze made me uneasy, because I was pretty sure she was looking straight into my soul and figuring out exactly what made me tick.

An hour passed, with me waiting for Tim and her digging into the inner reaches of my soul with her eyes every time she had a spare moment, and no sign of Tim or Curly Shepard. Pony would be home from work soon and would be hungry and suspicious if I wasn't there. Normally, I would just shrug that off and say that they kid would be fine, but this errand made me nervous in every way. Between hanging out at this sleazy bar looking for the Shepards, the fact that I had to talk to them about their nutty kid sister, Ponyboy's express wishes that I keep my nose out of the whole situation and now this girl eyeballing me, I was ready to drink myself into a stupor and slink out the door. With every moment I felt less and less like the Darrel Curtis, Jr who was twenty-two by years, but much older by experience and grit, who was a football star and leader of the gang of neighborhood guys, who was Superman, and more like a fish out of water. Beads of sweat prickled on my brow, but as she moved away down the bar, it got slightly easier to breathe and regain my composure.

Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to give up and go home. Lord knew what Shepard was up to or when he would decide to show his face, and family business like this had to be taken care of directly. No middle men, no messengers. I tried to flag down the blond, but she had her back to me, so I stood on the foot rail of the barstool and leaned over the counter see how much I owed on his tab, stupidly assuming that was all she was recording on her notepad behind the counter. The list of names was a mixture of real names, regulars whose names she knew, and then various nicknames and clues to help her remember who owed what. **Chin scar, Elvis Lookalike and Asshole in tight pants** were a few that I managed to read upside down, chuckling, before she rushed over and pushed me back into my seat so hard that my teeth clicked together and I had to grip the sticky mahogany to keep from going head over stool legs down to the floor. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, her eyes cold and accusing. "I'm sorry," I laughed jovially, once I righted myself, "I just wanted to pay my tab." I couldn't help myself, seeing her so flustered, and winked, "But now you have me nervous that I might be the asshole in tight pants." She flushed even darker, but the warmth and sparkle flooded back into her dark eyes and a smile played with her lips. They weren't lush or full, but they weren't thin and rigid either and they were perfectly drawn on her face with a deep, shapely cupid's bow. Her smile was lopsided, but not in an intentional smirking way. I felt myself grin widely as her eyes scanned the room, pointing out the jerk whose pants were so far too small that they looked like they might spit him out into the ceiling tiles at any moment. I snorted out a laugh, trying to remain inconspicuous for her sake and looked back up at her. She had the notepad in hand and was struggling with whether or not to let me see it. Her mouth twisted up to the left, higher side of her mouth, eyes slipped down the day's list coming to rest on the right line. After a moment of thinking, she reluctantly set it in front of me and placed her finger next to my total, her face turning pink. My eyes eyes followed the line across and my ears grew hot as I read her delicate slanted handwriting, **Hunk waiting for Tim.**

I think we were both thankful when her attention was pulled back down to the other end of the bar by someone wanting a drink. It had been a long time since I felt that silly over a girl. For the longest time, grieving and keeping Pony and Soda out of the Boy's Home had consumed my every thought and waking moment. Girls weren't in the picture, there was no room for them. But, as things settled down after Ponyboy came back from Windrixville and Soda got over Sandy, I went on a few dates here and there, but nothing got beyond a second date. Not surprisingly, twenty-one year old girls were not all that keen to get serious with a guy who would spend the next three years as the legal guardian to a teenager. They wanted dates with dinner and dancing, parking and making out by the lake, romantic proposals and promises of secure lives in a house with a washer and dryer. My money went to feeding three bottomless pit guys and keeping the lights on. My time went to the roofing crew and checking over Ponyboy's math homework. All I had was a house with a washer that would be shared with a throng of loud teenage boys for the foreseeable future. No girl in her right mind would want that, and no girl I met had been brave enough to give it a try.

Another lull came, where everyone was content with the drinks they had in front of them for a minute. She restlessly paced, some part of her body moving at all times, whether she was walking, wiping the counters, flipping through her notepad or drumming her fingers anxiously against the bar top while she watched the dregs of what was once the Shepard gang play pool in the corner. The organized warfare between gangs might be old news, but hoods never changed. Watching them cuss, roughhouse and generally make assholes of themselves, I felt a sigh escape my lips. She cocked a beautifully arched brow at me and smiled her lopsided smile with a question in her eyes. I laughed, feeling heat rise up from the collar of my t-shirt towards my ears, "Watching them makes me feel old. I remember when I would have thought that bumming around a bar with my buddies, cussing and playing pool sounded like the picture of cool. Now, I just think they look like a bunch of jackasses."

 _They are,_ she mouthed with another smirk, though this one seemed intentional.

"Its not all their fault," I said, trailing my finger down the condensation on my beer bottle, "put a bunch of teenage guys in a group, and they'll somehow turn it into the Olympics of Stupidity. It don't matter where they come from, how much money they have or nothing else. If they don't have a purpose to focus on that they believe in, they'll find one and it usually will be the worst idea possible."

She pulled her notepad out from under the counter and began scribbling. **Voice of experience?** Her answers were clipped to keep pace, but her face, that teasing look made it like the words on the page were no different than hearing her.My hand subconsciously went to the back of my neck while I fought the guilty smile that was threatening to crack. She laughed, and it was a rasp, a whisper, a sweep of air through broken pipes. **Shit-eating grin** , she wrote in answer, underlining each word for emphasis.

"My brothers and I, we been on our own for a few years now. I know I was a dumbshit in high school, but I had football and good grades. I was focused, and mostly kept my nose clean." She raised that eyebrow in disbelief and that smirk pulled up her perfect lips. "Mostly!" I defended, chuckling. "But my kid brothers…between Soda being plain crazy and Pony being off in his own little world too much of the time, the two of them were jackass magnets. We always had some of the neighborhood guys in our house and they were usually getting ready to cause trouble or recovering from causing trouble."

 **Sounds fun! Not like this lot.**

"It was." I answered quietly. "Loud, crazy, nerve wracking, but fun."

Just as we were getting our feet back underneath us, believing that a new normal was possible, the letter came that brought everything crashing down again, the letter that sent Sodapop to Fort Sill, Texas and then Vietnam. He made it through basic and overseas, and so far as we knew, he was ok, but he wasn't home. We were managing in his absence, but every letter he sent home sounded like he was expecting our next letter to contain the news that we had killed each other in a heated argument. I learned after Windrixville that I couldn't bully Pony into doing things my way; I mellowed some and learned to keep some of my more perfectionistic tendencies to myself in the name of household peace. Sure, we still argued plenty, and neither one of us had any clue where the other was coming form most of the time, but we were both too stubborn and too loyal to our brother to walk out on the other again. We forgave each other time and time again for Soda, to prove to him that his talented and charming mediation wasn't the only thing that held our little family together and that he needed to worry more about himself and less about the two of us. I almost lost Ponyboy to the Boy's Home twice now, I wasn't going to be the reason the kid got hauled away now, nor was I going to be the one to end him. But it was hard to remember sometimes, and when things were at their worst, I really missed Soda's ability to explain Ponyboy to me.

A cool hand on my forearm and the zing of electricity from where she touched me straight to my heart brought me out of my thoughts. H dark eyes looked into mine. _Tim_ she mouthed, hooking her index finger and drawing it down her face from temple to chin in imitation of Shepard's trademark scar. Her eyes lifted and directed my attention to the door. I pulled seventy five cents out of the pocket of my jeans and set it down on the bar to settle my tab and gave her a tight smile before planting myself in Tim's path to the back room. "Curtis," Tim greeted cooly, extending a hand, which I took and shook with a firm grip. Even after knowing the guy since kindergarten, I always forgot how slight he was. Even those who knew him got fleeced by the persona, the rep, the legend, that was Tim Shepard. He was almost as tall as me, right around six foot, but thin and wiry with a permanent slouch and swagger to his stance. Pony once said that he reminded him of a jungle cat, and for the first time, I saw it. The sleek black hair, the fluid way he moved through the room and the sharp eyes were all predatory. "Been a long while. Things got quiet around here."

"I like quiet," I answered, drawing my mouth into a thin line. "Someone disturbing the peace and quiet in my neck of the woods is why I'm here. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?"

"Its a bar, Darrel. Privacy comes at a fucking premium." Tim's sneer started a slow smolder of contempt in the pit of my stomach.

I leaned in, my voice low, level and firm, the voice Dad used to use with Dallas, "You want me airing your sister's dirty laundry in front of the whole room, then we can talk here, but to my mind this is business between just you and I, Shepard. Your call."

Tim's eyes narrowed, his face stony as he searched mine for a hint of a joke. Finding none, he pushed past, ramming his narrow shoulder into mine. He cleared the back room with just a look, looking every bit like a panther in a cage at a zoo and once we were alone, Tim sunk into a chair and wove his slender fingers together, looking up quizzically. "What, or maybe I should ask who, has Angel done now?"

The only power I had over Tim was a slew of past alliances and physical size, so even though I was tired after a full day on the rooftops of Tulsa, I stayed standing, my muscular arms crossed over my broad chest. A front, I had to let him know that even though the old days were gone, I had no problem pounding him into a puddle of ink and hair grease if I didn't like his answers. "You know anything about a fight at the high school a few weeks ago, during a dance?"

"I don't make it my business to patrol school dances no more."

"So the dipshit that Angela roped into jumping Ponyboy wasn't one of your dipshits?" Tim's inky blue eyes widened. "Word has it that she didn't take kindly to him turning her down."

"Fucking bitch!" Tim muttered under his breath, giving me the answer that I was looking for. "Some days, this circus 'round here gets out of control and the fucking monkeys start thinking they can run shit. Especially that little crazy one with more hormones than she knows what to do with."

"I figured I should come make sure Angel was working on her own gumption and that you weren't being stupid enough to cross my little brother without so much as the courtesy to try and let me know first," I said. "You know the score, our score. You and I don't do shit that way." My voice remained low and even, but dangerous all the same and Tim knew exactly what I meant. Times changed, the gangs, the rumbles and all of that was done, but loyalty wasn't dead. Tim and I had a certain code when it came to our siblings.

"Kid get hurt?"

"Think we'd be talking all friendly like if he did?" I growled, setting my jaw and narrowing my blue eyes as I stared down at the panther turned house cat. "Luckily, another kid stepped in. Lucky for you, the other kid went to the hospital after getting his head busted with a bottle, not Ponyboy."

"Consider the matter taken care of," Tim answered, waving his hand passively. "I'll put Angel straight and let the boys know to check with me before they go off doing the Wicked Witch's bidding." He grinned up at me ruefully, "Truth be told, I'd already have a handle on her if I wasn't scared of her. She really is fucking crazy."

"She makes me glad I got stuck raising brothers instead of sisters," I agreed, pulling a sardonic chuckle out of Tim.

The howls and scuffle of a fight breaking out in the main bar drew the old allies to the door. One of Tim's boys, Ronny McCarthy had another guy by the throat over by the pool table. Quick as a flash, the blonde was over the bar, shoving McCarthy, pointing at the door and mouthing _OUT!_ but he easily flung her aside. I, not being the type to see a woman, especially a pretty one I spent the better part of the last two hours flirting with, get hurt started forward, but was stopped by the lean arm of Tim Shepard. "Therese can hold her own and she wont thank you for getting in her way. Don't let the pretty face fool you, she's a beast." The pretty blonde leapt to her feet, rolling her neck a bit before palming the cue that was abandoned on the pool table when the fight broke out and slamming it down hard on the edge of the table, snapping it in half. She had their attention now, the sharp crack ringing through the room. Tim's eyes were wide, a leering smile on his face. "If the mute thing didn't creep me out, Ida been all over that ages ago when I hired her." She pushed herself between the two hoods, brandishing the jagged butt end of the cue like a knife, pressing the splinters up into McCarthy's chin, shoving him backwards. _Outside,_ she mouthed and pointed to the door.

"Tim?" McCarthy called out quietly, his voice shaking with panic. She flipped the bird in Tim's direction and pulled a hooked finger down her face, obviously meaning _Fuck Tim,_ which made the lean cat next to me chuckle with glee.

 _My bar,_ she mouthed.

"You heard the lady, loud and clear and you know the rules," Tim called loudly, "you take your fights outside. You don't shit where you eat. Fucking animals." The last two words he muttered under his breath. She stood, chest out, back straight, holding the splintered wood to McCarthy's throat until he let go of the other guy and backed away. She sauntered over to the two men in the doorway and stared at Tim for a long while, eyes narrowed, face pinched, gripping the pool cue like he might be the next one to get the dangerous end of it. I saw the long nagging tirade she wanted to throw at Shepard building in her eyes, knowing she could never deliver it. Instead, she grabbed the hood's hand and slapped the blunt end of the cue into his palm and curled his fingers around it. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Therese, new pool cue." He looked up at me, "These dumbasses cost me a fortune in cues and chairs with their bullshit." She stalked back to the bar leaving the us, one with a smirk and one with his mouth hanging open. "Close your mouth, Curtis," Tim chided.

I shook off his shock and pulled myself together. "Did I catch her right? Her bar?"

Shepard chuckled and smoothed his hair back, "You caught her right, but it ain't her bar; its my bar. She just gets a little possessive of the place, being here more than me." I couldn't keep my mouth from falling open with shock again, reeling at the thought of Tim Shepard as a business owner. Tim openly guffawed and slapped me on the back, "Its a nice front, ain't it? Keeps attention off of some of my…extracurriculars." He winked an inky blue eye and slunk back into the back room, closing the door to keep my nose out of his…extracurriculars.

I checked my watch and swore under my breath, I'd be lucky if Pony hadn't gotten it in his head to go off on some wild goose hunt, looking for me. It was my own fault for being such a slave to my routines, never straying. Pony was always sure that something bad happened to me if I was late. I couldn't blame the kid for that, in our experience, something bad usually did happen when someone didn't come home when they were supposed to. Still, Ponyboy was sixteen years old and in his junior year of high school. If common sense didn't find him soon, it might never find him. I turned and gave a long look at the blonde behind the bar, wanting to go talk to her again, but sure that I should hustle on home. She was watching me too, and that was all the push that I needed. A raise of her eyebrows, all business, flick of her chin. "I'm done for tonight, thank you. Tim said your name is Therese." A nod and a squinted, scrutinizing gaze was the answer I got. "My name is Darrel, Darrel Curtis. It was real nice talking to you while I waited tonight." I offered her a smile and my hand, and she took both with a wary smile back before opening to a fresh page in her yellow notepad.

 **Therese Dawson** _,_ she wrote.

I smiled again, my ears heating up again. "Much as I don't want to come here ever again, I have a feeling I will. The company here is too good to pass up." She grinned mischievously and made her pantomime for Tim again and I laughed aloud. "Tim has never been good company, but we go way back watching each other's backs and slapping around each other's kids siblings." She whistled long and low and made and evil face and a pantomime of long curly hair around her head. "Yeah, Angel's who I was here about tonight. She's…something else."

She picked up her pen, **Good thing you don't think he's good company. I would have had a hard time following my own rules if you two were good friends** _._

"Rules?" This girl was a mystery, a puzzle to solve. A puzzle was just what I needed in his sad, boring life.

 **.**

 **Rule one: keep away from all friends and family of Tim Shepard.**

"Would it make you feel better about your rules to know that I haven't seen him in nearly two years and it took me over a week to find him here?" Her face lit up with a smile that reminded me so much of a taller, wilder version of my mother that it almost made me tear up. God, she was breathtaking. She nodded and went back to scribbling and I watched her enthralled with my pulse thudding dully in my ears and my stomach doing wild backflips.

 **Off on Sunday, want to take a drive? I don't want you to have to come here either.** She handed the pad up to me with a lopsided smile, the left side higher than the right and as I read her offer I felt like he was back in school, starting fullback on the field after a win. I didn't think; I didn't hesitate. The moment my eyes translated her scrawl, my answer was out.

"Where do I pick you up?"

 _Right here,_ she mouthed, patting the bar and giving him another dazzling smile.

-A/N: Hey all, Pixie here! Therese popped into my head early this morning insisting I tell her story instead of working on the writing I get paid for. She was very persistent, so I obliged. The Curtis boys and the Shepards are not mine, They belong exclusively to S.E. Hinton, and the title is credited to Van Morrison's song "Brown Eyed Girl.

Hey y'all, I just edited this, added a few little exchanges between Therese and Darry and changed POV from 3rd person to 1st person, but still Darry narrating, because that's how the rest of the chapters seem to be evolving. Nothing earth shattering was added, mostly just smoothing some rough edges. Happy reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Tim woke me that day banging on my door, pounding like a madman. He didn't just hit with his fist; he used the side of his hand, his bony wrist and a good part of his long forearm to pummel the wood so hard that the floor shook and the dishes rattled on their shelf. _God damnit, Tim._ It was still early by my estimation, but the navy satin sleep mask over my eyes made my estimations less than trustworthy. The warmth of the blankets threatened to pull me back into sleep as they gently diffused Darry's intoxicating scent around me. The idiot on the other side of the door could wait while my mind roamed back to the night before. Sweat, roofing tar and aftershave mixed with the vanilla and incense scent of my perfume, the smell of us, pulled my lips into a smile as I burrowed into the sheets. A thrill ran up my spine as I thought of the things that happened in those soft, threadbare sheets only hours before. He didn't wake me when he left for work and now his pillow was cold. The nights he spent with me were little more than short (but exhilarating) naps between his second shift at the lumberyard and his early mornings with the roofing crew.

"Therese, get up," Tim's voice called in. _Damn._ " I know you're there. We've got a job to do. I need you." _Fuck you, Shepard,_ I thought, _I told you wasn't doing this shit with you anymore. I'm a bartender not an actress or a stripper or a whore! I'm not at your beck and call!_ The banging started again; it would be a wonder if his whole damn arm wasn't black and blue by the time we got to whatever business he was waking me for. I growled deep in my throat as my hand reached out from under the covers to blindly feel the bedpost for the worn flannel of Darry's that I claimed at some point. Sleep mask still in place, I slid the shirt up my arms and stumbled blindly across the small apartment. I was still pushing buttons through the stretched out button holes with one hand as I turned the locks with the other, and pulled the mask up to my forehead just as I opened the door, making sure to have my best "what the fuck" face on, just for him.

He draped himself against the doorframe smirking languidly, the only cat in Tulsa still greasing his hair, and he seemed to ooze the stuff from his pores. From the condescending smirk that his thin lips curled into to the long arms crossed in front of his lean ribcage, he was the picture of the small town king pin. "Mornin' T," he drawled as I glared at him. _What do you want, Timmy, because you ALWAYS want something._ His eyes lingered a little too long on my legs, so I used one of them to kick him in the shin. _You can't have that; never could._ He just smiled, bemusedly. After ten minutes of banging on my door like an ape, his sudden air of charm and charisma told me everything that I needed to know. The guy may have been a criminal and a sleaze, but a boy doesn't become a small town crime lord without some amount of brains and acting talent, and under all the pomade he had both in scores. "Curtis still here?" he asked looking over my shoulder. I flipped him off and pulled the door closer to me. _None of your business._ Even though Darry left for work hours before, my rule still stood, keep out of the personal life of Tim and keep him out of mine. "Put some damn clothes on and meet me downstairs, we're going for a drive."

I sighed and my hand reached out to grab his shirtsleeve and I motioned for him to wait a minute. All of my pockets had pens in them, so that I was never without something I could communicate with, and the faded blue flannel that covered me at that moment was no different. **Pretty? Plain?** I wrote on my palm and held it out to him. He normally wasn't one to put up with my "love notes" as he called them, but this was business. "Pretty, but not dolled up. We want them at ease, not falling over each other to get to you." I nodded, but my mind went to Darry. What would he say if he knew that I was still letting Tim use me like this; that I had ever let Tim use me like this? He was such a Boy Scout, he would never understand this. It didn't matter that Pony and Soda had their rough spells, Darry's rough spells were getting in fights to protect other people and getting a grade below a B once in awhile. He would never understand this. **Never again,** I wrote on my hand.

"Aw, T, you know I hate it when you break up with me." He mocked me with a pouty face. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the floor with his slimy, pouty lip. My obvious distaste turned his frown into a wry, amused grin. "You say it's the last run every time, Baby." My fist cut up into his jaw, just the way he taught me, with my thumb tucked in for protection and leading with my pointer knuckle. "Jesus, Therese!" He yelped, cupping his face and then pulling his hand away. **Not your Baby.** "Oh, I see," he mused, "got something better now. If you're not mine, then how come you're still living here and not shacking up at Casa Curtis." I blew out a frustrated puff of air and wrote five words. **Not invited. Last Run. "** Superman's shining reputation is rubbing off on you. Too good to help the guy who helped you out of the lurch." He sneered at me. He already knew I was going with him just as well as I did, but that didn't mean I had to act grateful for it.

I leaned in to him, putting my face right next to the red, swollen skin of his jaw that was quickly turning into a bruise. "Yes, I am," I said, my voice just a whisper, a vibration and slammed the door in his face.

"Get the lead out and meet me downstairs. I'll make the coffee," he called through the door.

I dressed in a pair of cutoff denim overalls and a floral blouse with cowboy boots, still seething, still furious with him for asking this of me again and even more furious with myself for going along with it without more of a fight, and tucked a pair of round framed wire sunglasses in the bib pocket of the overalls. My hair was tied up in two loose, low pigtails and my make up was light and shimmery. I thought I looked like a twenty two year old trying to look sixteen, but men seemed to love that, and that was my job that day to be what men love.

Tim was pouring coffee into mugs when I entered the bar, and he looked me up and down as he slid me a mug. A lustful, unsettling groan slipped up from his throat, making me wince as bile pushed up my throat. "I said sweet, T." I rolled my eyes before giving the coffee a suspicious look. "I'm not a fucking child, I didn't spit in it or nothing." He knew me better than I wanted to give him credit for and I hated it. I narrowed my eyes and looked between him and the cup a few more times before taking a sip and letting the scalding liquid flow down my throat. "What makes you always expect the worst from me?"

I tilted my head to the side and cocked an eyebrow, with a subtle smile as I scribbled, **Experience,** on my palm.

He chuckled, "Touche'." We finished our coffee in silence, the hot liquid soothing the ever present scratch in my throat. He washed the cups and set them on the drain board as a knock came at the back door. His face paled and tensed as he gave a long stare at my face. I could read every smirk, sneer and glare that crossed his face normally, but this look was something I saw so rarely that it took me a minute to decipher it. Worry. "That's our ride. Give me a few minutes to take care of business. Wait here until I knock for you to come out, then we'll hit the road." His voice was tight and reserved and my stomach soured again at the thought that we were going into something that made Tim visibly nervous.

While I waited, I wrote him a question on palm. It was barely nine in the morning and already ink was starting fill the creases in my palm from being written on and then smudged away. I normally was not upright at this hour. At his knock, I left the safety of the bar and stepped into the morning sunlight to leave on our unexplained adventure. The car in the back alley was not his normal black 54 Crestline, but a pickup truck very much like Darry's rusted red F100, but with wood sides on the bed and a better paint job in shiny forest green. _A stolen truck,_ I snorted to myself, _and he wonders why I always assume the worst from him._

"Ready, Bay…." he stopped himself just before he let himself call me 'baby' again," "T?" His face was drawn, shadowed with concern and his already dark eyes seemed to have gone all black. I nodded and slid into the passenger seat. He slid in next to me and immediately pushed in the cigarette lighter, staring straight ahead out the windshield. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him. The click of the lighter popping back out made us both jump, and I took advantage of the moment that he pressed the tip of his Marlboro to the red hot coil to shove my scribbled on hand in front of him. His eyes perused my question as he puffed smoke in and out, his thin brows knitting above his nose. **Fill Me In.** When he turned my way, there was no sneer, no smirk this time. He looked deeply at me with those piercing, indigo blue eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, down to the back of his neck. "If you scrub that off, if you don't know, then you're just on a supply run with your boss and you can be genuinely confused. The less you know, the better, in case things go south, savvy?" I spit on my hand and used my other thumb to smear the ink as panic gripped me and squeezed my ribcage. Normally the suggestion that I agree to play the clueless female would get him another bruise, but everything was different that day. He was keeping me in the dark to keep me safe. _What are you dragging me into, Shepard?_ I wondered.

Suddenly, he reached over and patted my knee, "Don't you worry none, Therese. You sit in the car; smile pretty when anyone looks atcha, and pull the twelve gauge out from under the seat if things go wrong. Its already loaded and there are more shells in the glove box." I blinked and swallowed hard, pushing the feeling of my coffee forcing its way back up away. In all of our previous scrapes and schemes, he'd never armed me, especially not with a gun. Dress trashy and flirt mercilessly? Yes. Punch first and ask questions later? Absolutely. But never had he given me a loaded gun and the order to use it.

We drove north on dirt roads with the windows open, our mouths filling with dust and the sweet taste of prairie grass. Tim was deep in thought, curling and uncurling his long fingers around the steering wheel. The silence and confined space were driving me mad and there was no way to release the electricity in my blood. When I tried to turn the radio on, hoping that filling the space with noise would help, he swatted my hand away. On a good day, Tim was quiet. Sure, he could turn on the charm when it suited his needs and he could bark out orders, but a stunning conversationalist he was not. Normally, he would try, for my sake, knowing the talker I would be if it weren't for what happened to me. He would chat to put me at ease and keep me from driving him crazy with my endless motion. He would tease me and tell me stories about Curly's antics. The stone faced silence that filled the cab of the truck chilled me to the bone, and reinforced the feeling that everything about this trip was wrong.

I reached across him, into his pocket and slid out two cigarettes, slapping the button into the dash as I sat back up. He looked over at me wide eyed, the realization that his strange mood was making me uncomfortable enough to smoke hitting him hard. The smoke hit the scars inside my throat and burned the already irritated tissue before a cough forced it back out. I handed him the second cigarette and stared out the window taking tentative drags. "You ain't going to be able to eat later, if you keep that up," he mumbled, having seen me after wild nights where a few too many jiggers of whiskey convinced me that having a cigarette was a good idea. The next day I was barely able to swallow my own spit let alone anything that would satiate me. I held my face in a perfect deadpan as I watched him, unwilling to give away that I was terrified that the cup of coffee he made me that morning was the last thing I might ever swallow.

We drove endlessly, it seemed, turning from one dirt road to another as we made out way North and East, eventually crossing the border into Missouri. When the signage changed from "OK State Road" to "MO State Road" is where I got my first inkling that we weren't just picking up something normal like bootlegged beer that fell off of some other big wig's truck. The blond hair and pretty face were the outwardly pleasant wrappings for more than half a brain. I wasn't stupid; I knew that the liquor I poured nightly didn't come with invoices and that there was no rhyme or reason to the selection I had available. I knew that Tim didn't order any of it from a warehouse. Knowing Tim the way that I did, I also knew not to ask questions, and I kept to that most of the time. He wouldn't tell me things that were "above my pay grade" even if I did ask. In the two hours that we drove I must have opened my mouth to try to ask him where we were going nearly ten times and each time the sensation of air dragging raggedly through my throat stopped me. He couldn't hear me over the V8, the wind wooshing in through the open windows or the clamor of his own thoughts anyway, and wouldn't thank me for trying to get him to read any notes I might try to write him with the withdrawn and snappish mood he got in the further into Missouri we drove.

I missed Darry, sitting there, isolated by silence again. In all of the long drives we took on Sunday afternoons, he never let me feel like that, like I was cut off because we couldn't chat while he drove. Maybe it was just because Darry enjoyed quiet, but I wanted that weighty arm draped over my shoulder and his muttered complaints about how my shaking knees and snapping fingers drove him fucking insane. He said things like that, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he fought a teasing little smirk. The dimple in the middle of his chin shifting just barely from side to side as my constant motion made him grit and grind his teeth as he struggled to pay the road the kind of focus that he like to give to everything he did. On our drives, I would giggle and scoot closer to him on the bench seat of the truck when he started his grumbling and he would glance at me sidelong like a pitcher checking the runners before a pitch. Over and over, I would inch closer and he would check to make sure that I didn't steal second while a tiny seed of a smile tugged at the corner of his firm mouth. "Don't do it, Rese," he warned and I would lose all control and break into a wide smile as my hand slid over his denim clad thigh.

"Therese!" Tim yelled, pulling me abruptly out of my little daydream. "Throw that damn butt out before you burn yourself." The cigarette had burned down to my fingers and I hurriedly threw it out the window. It was the second or third I lit over the course of the drive, but I don't think I took more than a few drags off of each one, too preoccupied to remember that I was even holding them. While I was lost in my thoughts, the scenery out the window had changed. The grasslands and farmers fields became fewer and fewer and the trees became denser. Walls of sandstone rose around the car where the road had been carved out of the rock. My ears popped as the roads steadily climbed in elevation and soon we were deep in the southern Ozarks.

We pulled up the crossroads by the meadow and where a brand new black Chevy pick up was already waiting for us. We watched them through the windshield and they watched us, neither wanting to be the first to get out of the relative safety of their cab. "Remember what I said, I'm going to talk to them, you stay here. Have the shells ready, but just smile pretty if they look at you. Don't show the gun until things go wrong, if you jump and they see it, they wont hesitate to take me out. Don't get me fucking killed today, Therese." With that, he slid out of the car with a fluid ease of motion, like he was strolling over to offer the guys a smoke and ask for directions. _Breathe, Therese,_ I ordered myself, but my lungs fought me, not wanting to take in air. I gasped and coughed, choking on nothing. _Pull it together, girl. He needs you and if you pass out now he'll drive you home unconscious. Between what Tim might to do you and what Darry might do to him, you owe it to all three of us to pull it together and BREATHE._ Finally, my lungs let me pull in a big gasp of air and I was left with nothing to do but watch Tim Shepard saunter through a field. After he covered about half of the distance between the two trucks, I opened the glove box and put a few shells in each pocket of my overalls and prayed that the only time I would have to touch them again was to put them back in the box in the dash.

The men who got out of the truck wore sleek tailored suits. Their shirts were professionally pressed and their shoes gleamed in the sun. The driver was shorter and slighter in build. His navy suit, though tailored, was not as pristinely fit as the taller man who he served as driver for and his narrow red tie flapped in the summer breeze. Not a hair was out of place on the taller, broader man. His tie remained tacked to his shirt. While the younger one shifter slightly, his nerves getting the better of his cool calm, the older stood with his arms crossed, still as a statue and watched Tim approach. In his worn jeans and black t-shirt Tim looked like a back alley thug in comparison. I always knew that Tulsa was small time, in the grand scheme of the world, but seeing those guys, in their expensive tailored suits and their hair that slicked straight back looked like they fell straight out of a Sinatra movie and into the boondocks to meet up with a wannabe gangster and his sidekick bartender. The taller one, with his tortoise shell sunglasses and skinny navy tie under his charcoal suit, wore shoes that easily cost as much as I made in a year. The gleam on the finish and the detail in the cut and curve of the leather screamed wealth and taste. Of the two of them, he was certainly the higher up, but I got the feeling, that inside their ranks back in Kansas City, they were both low level flunkies to have gotten the responsibility of driving to meet some yahoo out of Tulsa who thought he was some kind of major player.

He shook hands with both of them and gestured to me in the car, my cue to flash a big "girl next door" smile. I played my part, squeezing my nervous hands in between my knees to keep from grabbing the shotgun. They kept looking, smiling, and I knew what I had to do. I pulled a compact out of my purse and a tub of lip balm, I pouted my lips out as I dapped the stuff on, never actually looking at the mirror, but looking over it at them. _Smile, just smile and flirt and make them think about your lips and it will all be over soon,_ I told myself. Soon, their attention turned away from me and they walked in a group back to the crates in the bed of the other truck. Tim perused the merchandise and nodded his head, his face steady and unrevealing. The younger guy stayed towards the bed as Tim and the older one moseyed back towards the front and began to talk. Tim's hand slashed the air violently as they began to disagree, I couldn't hear anything, but I saw the man in the slick suit and expensive custom shoes reach into his pocket. That was my cue to reach for the floor and push the door open.

I'm not sure if it was the movement of me getting out of the truck or the warning shot I fired that pulled his aim off, making it so that Tim only got grazed by the bullet, but either way, a shot meant for Tim's heart ended up just giving him a deep gash in his bicep. Junior Suit rushed up next to Fancy Shoes, but stopped abruptly when he saw that I was pumping the shotgun again and aiming it at them. The handgun fell to the grass in front of Mr Fancy Shoes when he was startled by the buckshot that whizzed by his ear only moments before.

With the stock of a twelve gauge tucked into my shoulder, trapping my hair between the oak and my tender skin, I couldn't help but wonder how the hell I got here. If my shoulder wasn't bruised from the recoil and my hands weren't shaking with adrenaline, I might have thought that the scenery was beautiful. The lush, tree laden rolling hills interrupted by strong castle like outcroppings of grey sandstone were, until our arrival, quiet and peaceful and the air was perfumed with the sweet smell of decaying leaves. They chose this place, a crossroads near a little meadow, for their little rendezvous because it was secluded, uninhabited for miles around. The nearest people weren't the type to be bothered by gunshots, since they themselves went out to shoot their own dinner regularly anyway.

I flicked my eyes at Tim and gave him a nod. _Get me out of here, Asshole!_ my brain yelled at him, but, of course, my lips said nothing. All negotiation was on him, injured or not, in shock or not. All I could do was point the gun in the right direction and hope that they did what he said, because when it came down to it, I didn't think I had it in me to shoot them. He stared at me, bug eyed and speechless, stammering like an idiot and, I don't know, something in me just snapped. It was his fault I was here! I was just supposed to be going with him on a supply run! Not to meet some Kansas City mobsters to take a huge shipment of crates from their truck! Tim didn't even let me see what was inside. My fate was going to come down to guns or drugs or bootlegged booze, and I wouldn't even know which worthless endeavor got the better of me. I turned the barrel at him, my eyes feeling like they might be able to shoot their own shells if he waited any longer, and jerked it towards them, trying to get him to Get. Us. The Fuck. Out. Of. There. He looked slowly from the barrel of the gun to my face a few times before he managed to get himself pulled together enough to clear his throat and start to speak again. "See, boys, now you've gone and pissed off my partner here." His voice was shaky at first, but quickly warmed up and ignited with good ol' boy charm. He threw on the Oklahoma twang thick, trying to soften them back up to get his way. He was the master of manipulation, the source of all of Angel's wisdom on the subject, whether he would admit it or not. "Your boss and I agreed on a price and that's the price I'm going to pay." If he wasn't so smooth I would never had stayed at that bar when he offered it to me the previous year, and I certainly wouldn't be standing in a goddamned field outside of Branson pointing a loaded shotgun at low level mobsters with big time connections.

The recoil from the warning shot had surprised me more than it hurt me at first, but with the seconds ticking away, the deep ache of a knock to the bones was coming to the surface. My hand hurt from punching Tim earlier and my ears were ringing from the gunshot. I just wanted to get home to Darry. We had mere moments to fix this before one of them figured out that they could pick that gun back up and get rid of the both of us pretty easily. "Fine, three it is," Fancy said. They shook on it and Tim handed over a wad of cash that Fancy counted while Junior suit began lugging the crates across the space between the cars. Finally, the deal was done and Shoes shook Tim's hand one more time before clapping him right over his hand that clutched his injured arm. All the air let out of my lungs in a rush, knowing that Tim couldn't let that go. We were almost on our way home! Tim stopped and gathered himself and for just a moment I thought that maybe I was wrong and he would let it go. But no. As he pretended to walk back to me, to freedom, he reached down and picked up the gun and looked me square in the eye. His face was coated with a film of sweat from the pain and the blood loss, but his eyes were rock hard. I stowed the shotgun and slid all the way to the driver seat, leaving the passenger door open and pushed the clutch in, ready to shift into gear as soon as he had one ass cheek gripping the bench. Two more shots rang out and I didn't wait to look to see who he shot where, I slammed the truck into first and pounded the gas. The truck surged forward, spitting up grass and gravel towards Tim and he slid in. We lit out of there with a few more ill aimed shots fired at our tailgate and didn't speak the whole way back to Tulsa.

Outside Benny's he finally spoke. "You staying here tonight, or heading to Curtis'?" I looked over and glared at him. I breathed in ready to berate him and then let it back out as a frustrated growl because I couldn't. **Fuck you. This is over. Write me a reference. I'm moving out tomorrow,** scrawled angrily on my palm had to suffice. "Yeah, I figured, T. I just wanted to know if you wanted a ride there." His voice was low and defeated. This trip was a kick in the balls to him as much as it was a kick in the common sense for me. **I quit. Don't take those crates anywhere near Darry.** After giving him a moment to read, I yanked my purse out from under his leg. Since my hair-flipping exit was already ruined from having to pause to let him read, I stared back into those deep blue eyes, taking in the deep circles that had set in underneath them over the course of the drive. He searched my face, thinking I was pausing to reconsider, and I let another well-directed punch hit him in the nose. It broke under my fist, and I slipped out of the car and strutted to the bus stop.

A/N: this was originally part of this story and I decided to add it back. I don't know what happens next... I'm not sure there will be another installment, but I decided that this chapter deserved to be out there.


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